Summer in Chino
by BonnieD
Summary: Sequel to “Summer Time,” set several months after RyanSummer hooked up. This one is exclusively Summer’s POV.
1. Default Chapter

"Summer in Chino" by BonnieD  
  
Sequel to "Summer Time," set several months after Ryan/Summer hooked up. This one is exclusively Summer's POV.  
  
For those who haven't read "Summer Time," it is available only at my lj (too sexual for ff.net) and can be found at live journal under bonnied. Sorry can't post a link here. It's not allowed. Then scroll to the bottom for the beginning of the story. It is necessary to read it first to understand how Ryan and Summer got together in my AU, which splits off in the middle of the Oliver debacle.  
  
***********  
  
Summer woke and lay staring up at the canopy above her. The sun filtered through the sheer white fabric giving the light a diffuse glow. She stretched and rolled over to her side then closed her eyes again and fantasized that Ryan's arms were around her and his solid warmth was pressed against her back. She missed him in her bed every time she slept now. Although they spent many odd hours of the day lying here together, he had yet to spend the night.  
  
But Summer would find a way sooner or later. There was always a way to get what you wanted if you worked at it hard enough.  
  
She lay there and squinched her eyes tighter, spinning her Ryan fantasy, trying to conjure the illusion of his physical presence with just her willpower, but it was useless. DreamRyan wasn't RealRyan no matter how hard you concentrated. Besides ... her eyes flew open and she checked the time on her digital clock ... it was already noon and if she got her lazy butt out of bed she could go over to his house and HAVE RealRyan. She smiled widely at the thought, yawned, stretched and threw back the covers.  
  
*************  
  
An hour and a half later, Summer's blue jeep pulled into the Cohens' drive. She parked then walked around the side of the house to the pool area. Ryan was floating on a raft, eyes closed, body bathed in the golden light of the sun. Summer simply stood there a moment admiring the sight of all that tanned muscle and streaky blond hair then she dipped her toe in the pool and kicked a light spray of water over him.  
  
His eyes opened part way and he squinted at her. "Hey," he greeted in a sleepy voice, a slow smile spreading over his face. "What's the plan?"  
  
"Well," Summer swished her foot back and forth through the water. "No Cohens today, right?" She knew perfectly well there weren't. If it was Ryan's day off at the restaurant, then it was Seth's day to wait tables. As for Sandy and Kirsten, they were never around in the middle of the day. "I think maybe we should just hang out here." She knew he wouldn't argue. Ryan was always happier to stay in than to go out.  
  
"Okay," he agreed amiably. Ryan suddenly rolled off the float sending up a spray. Summer jumped back so she wouldn't get splashed. He cut cleanly through the water, swimming toward the ladder and climbed out of the pool. She backed away.  
  
"I'm not going in," she protested. "I just did my hair and make up. You are not getting me in that pool."  
  
Ryan simply kept approaching her with that smug grin that made her want to punch him. Summer considered her options. Let him chase her around the pool and throw her in, run into the house and lock the door, or face him down and tell him that she wasn't kidding goddammit ... and then get thrown in the pool anyway.  
  
But when Ryan reached her, she only got as far as "I'm not ki...." before he scooped her into his arms, pressing her against his cool, wet skin and plundering her mouth with a long, ardent kiss. He finally pulled back to complain, "You took too long getting here," then leaned in to kiss her again.  
  
Summer loved how physically demonstrative he was. Not so much in public and never in front of Seth, but whenever they were alone, he was constantly touching her and not in that 'this better lead to sex' way which so many boys had demonstrated in her past. He simply seemed to enjoy the contact and the reassurance of her presence. Summer was happy to oblige.  
  
She forgot to fuss about her hair and makeup and her fresh, clean clothes and embraced his wet, chlorinated body fervently. After another series of deep kisses, he pulled away again, breathless. "Come on," he urged hoarsely and tugging her hand, led her to the pool house.  
  
Ryan shivered in the air-conditioned coolness of the room. "Just a second," he said, and leaving her standing by the bed he trotted to the bathroom to get a towel. Summer slipped out of her tank top and shorts and was posing on his bed in her newest bikini when he came back from the bathroom. His hair was towel dried and mussed and he sauntered toward her totally nude.  
  
He stopped to appreciatively eye her pinup girl pose. "Have I seen that one?" he asked, nodding at her blue and silver striped suit.  
  
Summer frowned. "No. Why else would I be modeling it?"  
  
"Because you like to show off your body?" he teased.  
  
"God, you're annoying," she grumped, throwing herself back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know why I bother wearing anything new. I could show up in a burlap sack for all you'd notice."  
  
"Summer," he cajoled, dropping down on the bed next to her. "You have like fifty bathing suits. How am I supposed to keep them straight?"  
  
"Try," she snapped, but without any bite to it. Already she was dissolving under his sure touch as he ran his hand very slowly from her knee, up her thigh, over her hipbone, waist, ribcage and came to rest on her breast. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder, and then, leaning on one arm, gazed down at her face.  
  
"You look beautiful, as always, and you know it," he said, a slight tinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "I'm not going to compliment you constantly no matter how great you look."  
  
"Why not?" She pouted playfully. "I like compliments."  
  
"Because your head will get even bigger than it already is. Pretty soon you won't fit through doors." He kissed her throat and Summer lifted her chin a little in response. He ran his tongue down the column of her neck and tickled it in the hollow between her collarbones. She shivered, delighted.  
  
The phone rang.  
  
"Don't answer it," Summer gasped.  
  
Ryan complied, working his way down to her breasts as he pinned her to the bed with his body. The annoying electronic melody repeated five times before voice mail kicked in, but Summer and Ryan were already oblivious to it, deeply involved in their favorite summer past time.  
  
***********  
  
Later they lay side by side on Ryan's hopelessly rumpled bed, staring up at the ceiling and breathing heavily as sweat cooled their bodies in the chilly air.  
  
"Wow," Ryan murmured, reaching out a hand to pat Summer's thigh.  
  
"Oh, yeah," she agreed, too bonelessly relaxed to do more than reach her own hand down to grasp his.  
  
They lay for a few sweet moments, hand in hand, before he rolled over and picked up the phone, checking caller ID.  
  
"Who is it?" Summer asked, curiosity piqued at the expression on Ryan's face.  
  
"Theresa. Someone from back home," he explained.  
  
"Girl-next-door-first-fuck Theresa?" she enquired, leaning up on an elbow.  
  
Ryan didn't answer as he returned the call.  
  
"Hey, this is Ryan. What's up?" he asked, sounding nervous.  
  
There was a long pause. Summer was dying for the days when you could listen in on an extension.  
  
"No shit?!" he exclaimed. "When?" Another pause then, "Congratulations. That's...."  
  
Summer relaxed. It sounded like a celebration not a crisis so that was all right.  
  
"Well, tell Eddie congratulations, too." Ryan's voice had moved from anxious to surprised to warm. He smiled slightly as he gave the girl his address.  
  
"Yeah that'd be nice." Ryan glanced at Summer. "No. Not Marissa. I'm dating someone else now." He touched her arm lightly as he said it. Another pause and a laugh from Ryan. "Shut up, puta."  
  
There was another period of silence and Summer watched as the relaxation perceptibly drained from her boyfriend. As he listened, Ryan sat up. His back was now turned toward Summer. She could see the muscles in his shoulders and neck tense.  
  
"How long ago?" he asked and Summer squirmed with impatience to know what was going on. "Are you sure it was her?" he added and his voice was so strained that she was beginning to get truly worried. She reached out a hand to stroke the bunched muscles of his back.  
  
"No. It's okay. Thanks for telling me."  
  
There was a last short pause. "Tell your mom 'hi' from me," Ryan concluded. "And really, congratulations Theresa. I'm happy for both of you."  
  
He put down the phone and Summer waited. It was hard to curb her natural impatience but she had learned how to handle Ryan over the past few months they'd been together.  
  
He suddenly turned to her. "Can I borrow your jeep?" he asked, hardly seeming to see her.  
  
"Sure," she answered promptly. "What up?"  
  
He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe nothing." He got out of bed and picked up a pair of discarded jeans from the floor. Summer followed his lead, shimmying back into her bikini bottom and cutoffs.  
  
"I'll drop you off at home on the way," he told her, thinking aloud, as he pulled a T-shirt over his head.  
  
"Mm," Summer replied. Of course she had no intention of going home. Whatever was going down in Chino, she was definitely coming with, but she wasn't going to argue with Ryan quite yet.  
  
"Would you...?" she asked, turning around and lifting her hair so Ryan could tie the strings of her bathing suit. After tying a sloppy bow, he smoothed a hand over her shoulder and dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck.  
  
Summer finished dressing, picked up her purse and followed him out of the pool house and around to the front drive where her jeep was parked. She slid into the passenger seat and buckled up. But although her manner was calm and passive, her mind was working at light speed. After three months as Ryan's girlfriend, she knew that although he was usually happy to please and to give in to many of her whims, he could sometimes be very stubborn.  
  
But eventually Summer always got her way. She had learned much more about his past than he ever wanted to tell by carefully judging when to push and how to draw him out without Ryan realizing he was beginning to share slivers and glimpses of himself. Oh yeah, she could easily be a psychologist. She was that good.  
  
So her task today was simple. Get Ryan to take her along to Chino and to explain what information Theresa had shared with him.  
  
She decided to go with the brick wall method today. As Ryan drove across town toward her house, Summer said, "You can drop by my house if you want but you do realize I'm not getting out, don't you?"  
  
"What?" Ryan seemed startled to find her still by his side as she broke his reverie.  
  
"I'm going with," she adamantly said. "To Chino. If you want to borrow my jeep, you have to take me too."  
  
He shot her a slit-eyed glare and his jaw tightened. Summer was gratified to note that he recognized when she was in undeniable mode by now. "Fine then I'll take the bus," he growled.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," she replied airily, inspecting her fingernail polish as if she didn't know it was flawless. "How would you get around once you got there?" She looked at him with one perfectly tapered eyebrow cocked questioningly. She flipped her hair back and put her hand over her heart. "I promise to keep quiet and not interfere in anything you have to do. Girl Scout promise."  
  
Although he still glared, Ryan's mouth twitched at her earnest expression. "You were in Girl Scouts?" he scoffed.  
  
"For a couple of months. Until they took us camping in the woods. Tents, mud, rain, bugs and spidery things? I don't think so. I thought 'primitive camping' meant rustic cabins or something. I called daddy and went home after half a night."  
  
Ryan sighed and his eyes slid away from her. He silently gazed out the windshield for a couple of blocks. "And if I asked you to please stay home and let me borrow your ride?"  
  
"You'd have to lift me bodily out of it."  
  
"That's what I thought." His jaw tightened again and Summer thought about how sexy that was for a second. "All right." He threw her another angry glare. "But if ... anything happens you have to promise not to argue with me and to do what I tell you to."  
  
"I will." Summer knew how to pick her battles. She hated promising to obey like some brainless Betty Boop but it was an easy vow to make. How dangerous was Chino really?  
  
Summer savored her victory for several miles as they got on the freeway and headed south, but finally her curiosity go the best of her. "So what did your friend Theresa tell you, anyway?"  
  
"She's getting married next month," Ryan said absently. "We're invited. If you want to go."  
  
"Of course. Wouldn't miss it." Summer paused. "What else?" she prompted.  
  
There was an excruciatingly long silence before he finally answered, haltingly. "She thinks she saw ... my mom ... the other day. And she looked like she was in trouble, messed up, maybe homeless ... or something." He shrugged. "I don't know."  
  
"Oh." Summer's heart clenched at Ryan's worried frown, but she knew better than to get mushy or weepy. Whenever he finally admitted to her a painful incident from his past, she had schooled her face to respectful sympathy and nothing more. Tears could come later on her own time, when they wouldn't serve to make Ryan feel more pathetic and vulnerable than he already felt.  
  
"She wasn't absolutely positive," he added hopefully. "It might not have been my mom at all."  
  
'But Theresa wouldn't have mentioned it if she wasn't pretty damn sure,' Summer thought. 'Poor Ryan.'  
  
"Well, okay then," she said aloud. "We'll look for her. And if it is her we'll ... get her some help." Summer attempted to sound confident and purposeful but inside she wondered what two teenage kids could possibly do to help a grown woman bent on self- destruction. If everything Ryan had told her about Dawn was true, she was not going to be an easy person to help.  
  
"Hey," Summer said softly, nudging Ryan's rigid arm. His fist clutching the steering wheel was white knuckled. "It'll be okay." She tried to radiate 'hopeful' at him with all the considerable power of her deep brown eyes.  
  
Their gazes locked for a brief moment and Ryan nodded and almost-smiled. But the smile never reached his eyes.  
  
To be continued.... 


	2. 2

"Summer in Chino" – chapter 2  
  
Anything that rings false about the gritty land of Chino is because I'm from a small, white bread town in the Midwest and all I know of 'bad neighborhoods' is from driving past a few unsavory places in Chicago and other cities.  
  
Later in the story Summer references a certain phone call and subsequent lunch with her mother. This was presented in "Summer Time" so if you want to know more, you can access the story at livejournal.com under bonnied. Actually, the lunch occurred some time in the three months between the two stories and only exists in the land of my brain. Maybe I should put that story down sometime.  
  
************  
  
They pulled up in front of a tiny, neat house with a postage stamp front yard, bordered by a chain link fence. Ryan turned off the engine and sat for a moment. Summer noticed that he was looking not at the house before which they were parked but at a much more dilapidated place next door. There were a couple of kids playing some kind of army game, which involved leaping off a ratty couch on the front porch into the yard then tearing around the side of the building. They fake fired at each other with plastic guns, screaming obscenities and making appropriate shooting noises. One of the boys accidentally slammed his shoulder into the corner of the house as he made the turn too sharply. He howled in pain, fell down on the sparse grass and proceeded to die a twitching, agonizing death.  
  
"Come on, you can't be dead yet. I was supposed to take you prisoner," his friend yelled as he kicked him in the ribs. "Get up, fuckhead."  
  
Summer shook her head and thanked god she'd never had any brothers. Boys were beyond comprehension most of the time.  
  
Ryan unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the vehicle. Summer followed suit and stood on the sidewalk staring at the house they were about to enter and suddenly feeling extremely nervous. She wondered why she'd been so hell bent on having her way and coming with Ryan. But her curiosity about the mythic Theresa outweighed her fears and she possessively took her boyfriend's hand as he went up the path to his onetime neighbors' house.  
  
He rang the bell and they stood waiting in the baking hot, stifling air on the front stoop. Summer glanced next door where the boys' swear-a-thon had turned into a scuffle. They rolled around in the grass like a pair of angry dogs.  
  
No one answered the door. "Must be at work," Ryan muttered. He was looking increasingly pissed off and tense. "Damn."  
  
"She told you where to look, right?" Summer asked tentatively. "You know where she might have seen your mom?" She was pretty certain from the portion of the phone conversation she'd heard that this was true.  
  
"Yeah." He turned his frown on her. "But I was going to leave you here with Theresa. Where I'm going ... I don't want you along."  
  
"The hell. Why'd you think I came all the way here with you? I'm going to help you look." Summer saw his frown and raised him a hand on hip gesture of defiance.  
  
Ryan scowled. "It's too dangerous. Random shit happens. You could get shot or killed just being in the wrong place at the wrong time."  
  
"Crack houses and gangs. I get it," she said flippantly.  
  
"No. You really don't," Ryan gave her one of his intense stares as he firmly gripped her upper arm. The kind of stare that let her know a riptide of violence ran beneath his ocean blue eyes.  
  
Summer's return glare never faltered. Then she slowly and deliberately dropped her gaze to his bruising hand. He let go of her immediately and backed off a step.  
  
"I ... don't want to have to worry about you, about keeping you safe...." he began in a contrite tone.  
  
"Then don't," she snapped. "I'll be fine."  
  
As he continued to hesitate, she sighed and rolled her eyes. "God's sake, Ryan. Stop it! I'm not a porcelain doll. If anything happens, I promise I'll run screaming for help. I've got pepper spray on my key chain." She waved her cell, "And 911 on speed dial."  
  
A glimmer of mirth crossed his face. Summer knew how to tease Ryan out of his dark moods. He bit his lower lip and his gaze shifted off to the distance. From the sudden droop of his shoulders Summer could tell the argument was at least temporarily won. She relaxed her stance too.  
  
"All right," he finally said wearily. He led the way back up the sidewalk to the jeep.  
  
As she buckled her seatbelt again, Summer cast a last glance at the house next door. The two boys, still punching each other in the arm, were now running for the front door, yelling "Mo-om!" and pushing each other aside in their eagerness to enter the house first. The door slammed closed behind the kids just as Ryan turned the key in the ignition.  
  
"So, you used to live there?" Summer asked, nodding toward the house.  
  
Ryan glanced quickly at the shabby building. "Yeah." He put the vehicle in gear and pulled away from the curb.  
  
***********  
  
As they drove through Chino, Summer thought that, although the streets and stores were rundown and worn looking, it was certainly not the raging ghetto she had expected. She had been to L.A. and seen the dichotomy of the filthy rich rubbing shoulders with the even filthier poor. There was no escaping bag ladies and burnouts even on swank streets like Rodeo Drive, and a palm tree shaded, upper class neighborhood sometimes butted up against the most decrepit, crime ridden zone.  
  
Summer pressed her forehead against the cool window glass and watched as reasonably tidy blue-collar homes gave way to vacant lots, burned out buildings and boarded up storefronts. She wondered what the chances were that they would emerge from this without being carjacked.  
  
Ryan continued to drive slowly down the abandoned street and then back into relative civilization where dollar stores and liquor marts, pawn shops and grocery markets were jammed side by side. Heat waves sizzled from the asphalt and the people who meandered down the sidewalks were scantily dressed in shorts, tank tops and flipflops. A group of shirtless, tattooed and pierced, teen boys were gathered in front of a Mexican restaurant, openly passing around a joint and calling out to any females who passed. Summer just had time to notice a mini-skirted, Hispanic girl stopping to scream a few epithets back at them before the jeep turned a corner and the drama was lost from sight.  
  
As they waited at a stoplight, Summer watched a skinny old man in saggy pants with suspenders stretched over his grimy T-shirt, walking a cat on a leash. He took slow, ponderous steps while the cat alternately stopped dead and sniffed at interesting things on the sidewalk or surged ahead, tugging on the lead. The old man bent down and scratched kitty's striped head with gnarled old fingers as he talked to the animal. Summer felt her heart seize up at the touching tableau. Unexpected tears welled in her eyes and she brushed them furiously away.  
  
Ryan pulled the jeep into the parking lot of a convenience store and came to a stop. "You want anything?" he asked, sliding a sideways look at her.  
  
"Uh. Sure. Diet Coke," she said, "And maybe a burrito."  
  
The moment they opened the jeep doors, the air conditioning was sucked out of the vehicle and absorbed into the sweltering heat. Summer was sure she could feel her hair frizzing up instantaneously. She followed Ryan into the relatively cool store where latin music blared and the clerk glanced up from his skin magazine just long enough to acknowledge their presence. They headed to the coolers in the back of the store and picked out their beverages then popped a pair of frozen burritos into the tiny microwave. As they waited for the timer to ring, Summer leafed through a magazine and Ryan approached the clerk.  
  
Summer watched curiously as Ryan flipped a photograph onto the counter in front of the guy. "Hey, man. Have you seen her around?"  
  
Again the clerk barely glanced up. "Naw."  
  
"Are you sure?" Ryan laid a ten next to the photo and the clerk picked up the money and the picture and this time studied Dawn's image more closely.  
  
"I don't know, man," he shrugged. "A lot of people come through here. Maybe." He put the picture back down. Ryan retrieved it and stuffed it in his wallet with a muttered 'thanks.'  
  
The microwave timer went off and Summer pulled out their food. Ryan paid for the sodas and burritos. As the clerk handed over the change, he said, "Missing, huh? You might want to talk to the ho's on Bowman. They see everybody that comes and goes." He added, "But most of 'em won't be out this early."  
  
Ryan nodded and turned to leave. Summer bestowed a radiant smile on the clerk who was helpless not to smile back. "Thank you very much," she said, gracious as Martha Stewart on a good day.  
  
"Uh. No problemo. Good luck," he stammered.  
  
Summer snapped her fingers. "Idea! If you remember anything at all, you can call my cell phone." Ryan opened his mouth to protest, but she rattled it off, making sure that the clerk wrote down the digits correctly.  
  
Outside the store Ryan gave her a skeptical look as he accepted his burrito and Coke. "That guy was totally useless, and now he has your cell phone number," he complained. "And what was with the Miss Newport treatment?"  
  
Summer shrugged and bit into her spicy, calorie-laden snack. "You catch more flies with honey. It never hurts to be polite when you want a favor from someone."  
  
"I'll remember that," Ryan said dryly, draining half his soda in one thirsty slurp.  
  
After they ate and wiped the grease from their hands as best they could, Ryan took a long look around. Summer smiled and dabbed at the hot sauce decorating the corner of his mouth. "Where next, jeffe?" she asked.  
  
He looked down at her and for a moment the chronic worried look, which had occupied his face ever since the phone call, disappeared. A genuine smile curved his lips and he bent to kiss her salsa-flavored mouth. She snaked her hands around the back of his neck and held him there for a moment, reminding him with her kiss about the good things in life.  
  
He pulled away and whispered, "Glad you're here," while favoring her with that half-mast, sexy gaze that always drove her wild.  
  
"Yeah? Me too," she answered. "Even though it's hotter than frigging hell itself."  
  
"Gonna get hotter," he warned. "We're leaving the jeep here where it's less likely to get stolen and walking."  
  
"Oh." Summer glanced down at her platform heeled sandals and cursed her vanity, which always made her want to appear taller than she really was. But she'd be damned if Ryan would hear one word of complaint from her this afternoon, even if they had to walk twenty blocks.  
  
***********  
  
A couple of hours later Summer was limping like a distance runner with shin splints. Sweat stuck the fabric of her top to her back and ran in rivulets from under her breasts. They had talked to and shown Dawn's picture to vagrants, shopkeepers, kids, old folks, probable drug dealers, whores, a cop, anyone they could find within a two block radius of the convenience store where Theresa and Eddie had spotted maybe-Dawn in the parking lot several weeks ago. Summer figured that about a third of Chino's lowlifes had her cell phone number despite Ryan's continued protests against giving it out.  
  
"You gonna be okay?" Ryan asked as Summer stopped and leaned against a building, pulling off one of her sandals and massaging her aching toes.  
  
"Peachy," she said shortly.  
  
Ryan gave her skeptical-face again. He knelt and took her foot in his hands, examining the blisters. "You should go back. I can take a bus home later."  
  
"No," Summer replied. "I'm cool. I've just got to lose these stupid sandals is all. Come on." She slipped her foot back in her shoe and led him into the nearest Dollar Tree. When they emerged five minutes later, she was wearing old lady slippers with cushy soles and pink faux fur trim. Her own shoes swung from her hand in a Dollar Tree plastic bag.  
  
"If you ever tell anyone you saw these abominations on my feet, you won't have a tongue left to talk with. Understood?" she demanded.  
  
"I don't think you'd like me without my tongue," he teased, running the appendage up her sweat-salty neck and tickling the back of her ear with it.  
  
"Off." Summer pushed him away. "I'm hot, sticky, smelly and gross and in no mood for your sexiness so cut it out."  
  
Ryan smiled as he obliged her, keeping a safe three feet between them as they walked down the sidewalk.  
  
After talking to a half dozen more strangers with no positive results, Summer was wondering why she'd pressed to keep on with the search when Ryan had offered an easy out. Finding Dawn was as impossible as finding a truthful politician.  
  
They were passing a strip club when a leggy African American and a chesty redhead exited the building, practically tripping over Summer who had stooped to get a pebble out of her nifty new slippers.  
  
"Sorry, hon," exclaimed the tall woman reaching out a hand to grab Summer's arm and keep her from falling. "I didn't see you."  
  
"It's okay," Summer assured her. "My bad." She beckoned Ryan. "Show them the picture."  
  
Wordlessly he held out the photo and the buxom redhead took it.  
  
"Have you seen her?" Summer asked.  
  
The other woman crowded her friend, peering over her shoulder at Dawn's image. "Who's asking?" she questioned, looking up curiously at the young couple.  
  
"I'm her son," Ryan answered.  
  
"She looks familiar," the shorter woman said.  
  
Suddenly Summer hoped that neither stripper would identify Dawn. It would be embarrassing for Ryan to find out she had worked at this club.  
  
"I know," her friend said. "That waitress. At Bud's, remember?" She looked at Ryan and Summer. "I never forget a face, and I eat there all the time. She was nice. Friendly."  
  
"But she's not there anymore?" Ryan surmised.  
  
"Uh-uh. Haven't seen her for months. But you should talk to the girls at Bud's. Prob'ly somebody can tell you what happened to her."  
  
The redhead chimed in with directions to Bud's Diner, which was only a block away. Armed with the first positive clue they'd had all day, Ryan and Summer thanked the ladies and hurried around the corner to the restaurant.  
  
Summer's sweaty legs stuck to the vinyl as she slid into a booth. Ryan sat across from her looking anxiously around the restaurant as if his mom might suddenly, miraculously appear. A waitress soon approached them, slapping menus down on the table. "What can I get ya?"  
  
"Sprite. The largest you've got," Summer answered promptly.  
  
Ryan held out the picture of his mother. "She used to work here?"  
  
The waitress glanced at it. "I don't know. I'm new."  
  
"Could you...." He looked up at her beseechingly.  
  
"Yeah. I'll ask the cook. He's been here since God grew mountains." She took the photo in her long, red talons. "Look, could you place your order? We're short handed today and I got six other tables waiting for me."  
  
"Uh, sure. Coke."  
  
"And two glasses of water," Summer added. "We're dehydrated."  
  
The waitress was back with their drinks in a minute. "You're in luck." She jerked her thumb toward an older waitress clad in the orange polyester uniform who was serving plates of food to a party of eight in the corner. "Lucy's the one you want. She was her best friend for a while. Said she'll come talk to you when she goes on break."  
  
Summer ordered burgers for both of them since Ryan was too agitated to function and the young waitress swept away again.  
  
"Breathe," Summer ordered, as she watched Ryan toy with his fork and follow Lucy's every move with his eyes. "Hey!" She snapped her fingers to get his focus on her.  
  
"You remember how I freaked out when my mom called and how I practically fell apart the day I had to go to lunch with her?" Summer asked. "Well, you're doing that. Looking back, I can tell you I let myself get ridiculously worked up for nothing. Nothing changes." She searched for words that wouldn't sound harsh, but there was no pleasant way to put it. "Whatever you find out, you have to remember it's your mom's life and stop letting her mess with your head. You're not responsible for her. She left you, remember?"  
  
"If she's in trouble...." Ryan began.  
  
"You might not be able to help her." Summer paused, wishing she'd had this conversation with him before they'd started searching Chino for Dawn. "I mean, you might be able to do something but you might not, so you have to go into it ... detached."  
  
"Detached," he repeated. "I don't know if I can do that."  
  
"What happened to Mr. 'I didn't feel anything when my mom left?' You're such a sham, Atwood. Under that Mr. Cool act you have more emotions simmering away than anyone I ever met."  
  
Ryan was irritated now and opened his mouth to respond, when Lucy approached their table, pulling a chair over so she could sit down. She put the photograph of Dawn on the table and held out her hand to Ryan. "So you're her kid, huh?" she said, smiling slightly as she took his hand. "She talked about you all the time. How she was going to get herself straightened out and make a real home for you." She shook her head and her smile disappeared. She took out a pack of cigarettes, shook one out and lit up.  
  
"What happened?" Ryan asked dully.  
  
"Ah, you know." Lucy shrugged, blowing out a long stream of smoke through her nose. "She started partying pretty hard, first on weekends then just about every night. One thing led to another...."  
  
Ryan nodded and Summer could almost see the walls go up as all expression drained from his face. He stared down at the table and listened impassively to the waitress's story.  
  
"Booze and coke led to harder stuff. She came to work fucked up one too many times and lost her job here. Lost her apartment. Owed all kinds of money to her dealer. I let her crash at my place for a while until she got too dangerous to be around." Lucy took a deep drag on her cigarette. "I hated to kick her out. She was a real sweetie, but...."  
  
She shrugged again and studied Ryan a moment before she went on. "I'm sorry to have to tell you all this."  
  
"You know where she is." It was a statement, not a question.  
  
"Yeah." Lucy paused. "I seen her panhandling outside the Fetzer Center one day. She was wrecked. Wasted, of course, and beat up. I almost ... went the other way, pretended I didn't see her, but ... I just couldn't do it. We were pretty close for a while there, Dawn and me. So, I gave her a twenty and a sandwich so she'd eat something ... and I told her if she was ever ready to get straightened out I'd help her any way I could."  
  
"Crack?" Ryan asked.  
  
"I guess. Probably whatever she could get her hands on."  
  
He nodded, jaw clenched so tight now that Summer was afraid his bones would pop through the skin.  
  
"Where can I find her?"  
  
"You sure you want to, honey?" Lucy asked, reaching out a hand to touch Ryan's shoulder.  
  
He finally looked up from the table with hard eyes and Lucy's hand fell away.  
  
"Okay," she agreed. "I get it. She's your mom. But I don't know if there's anything you can do to help her." She took another drag on her cigarette. "Dawn told me she was crashing in a house on Mariposa Street. I don't know which one."  
  
Lucy looked at Ryan and then at Summer. "But you better think twice before you go looking for her there." Her eyes returned to Ryan. "Don't take your pretty girlfriend. She's got no business a place like that."  
  
"I won't," he answered shortly.  
  
"Well," Lucy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, "good luck." She stood and hovered by the table for an awkward moment. "Really. Good luck," she repeated earnestly, catching Ryan's eyes and beaming concern and sympathy at him. "I ... had a sister with problems like Dawn's and I know how bad you want to help ... but there's only so much you can do, you know?"  
  
Ryan nodded slowly. "I ... have to see her," he explained.  
  
"I know." Lucy smiled sadly at both of them and turned to go back to the kitchen.  
  
Summer was saved from having to think of something to say to Ryan because the waitress arrived with their food. She stared at her burger. The rich, beefy smell was making her salivate and actually feel light-headed with hunger, but it seemed terribly inappropriate to chow down while her boyfriend was in the middle of a personal crisis.  
  
Ryan slumped against the back of the booth, staring across the restaurant at nothing. He didn't seem to notice the plate, which had been placed in front of him.  
  
"Um, Ryan ... sweetie," Summer said softly. The endearment felt strange. They weren't a 'sweetheart, baby, honey' kind of couple. "You should probably try to eat something even if you're not hungry," she prompted.  
  
His gaze swung slowly to her then down to his food. He picked up the burger and bit into it. Summer was glad to do the same. She wolfed down the hamburger and fries in less than five minutes then watched as Ryan continued to mechanically chew and swallow. He made it through half the burger before setting it down and pushing the plate away.  
  
Summer sucked on an ice cube and thought about what the waitress had told them. She realized now that Ryan had probably guessed all along what he was going to find out about his mother. The area they had spent the afternoon canvassing was not the dangerous, evil place from which he had wanted to protect Summer. This other neighborhood of homeless squats and drug houses was where he needed to go, and she knew he couldn't be budged this time. He would not take her there.  
  
"Okay," Ryan said suddenly, as if coming to an agreement with himself. He sat up and glanced at his watch. "It's after seven. I've got to check in with the Cohens and you probably want to call home."  
  
"Not particularly," Summer interjected.  
  
"I'm going to spend the night in Chino," Ryan continued. "But you ..." he fixed Summer with that stupid paternal look she hated, "should go back to Newport."  
  
"I...." she paused, mimicking his delivery, "am going nowhere. We've already had this conversation – twice!"  
  
"I'm not taking you down to Mariposa. Hell, even the cops don't go there if they don't have to." His eyes were fierce. "Please, don't argue with me!"  
  
"If it's that dangerous," Summer said, "then I don't want you going there either." She added, "You should talk to Sandy about all this."  
  
"He'd tell me to give it up and come home," Ryan argued. "And I can't do that."  
  
"Then neither can I." Summer was beginning to feel like a hamster running a wheel of argument with Ryan over and over. "Okay!" She held up her hand. "Compromise. We get a motel. Check in. Get cleaned up. Take a rest. Then you can go and check out this crack house street and I'll wait in the motel. Deal?"  
  
Ryan finally dipped his head, conceding. "All right."  
  
"But, you have to maintain phone contact with me at all times," Summer added quickly.  
  
***********  
  
Summer sat on top of the slippery bedcover at the SleepTite Inn where she and Ryan had booked a room for the night. She leaned against a pair of limp pillows, staring blindly at MTV and brushing her hair. She could hear Ryan moving around in the bathroom. The water turned off and after a moment he emerged, face scrubbed, the tendrils of hair around it spiky and damp. He stood in the doorway looking a little lost and uncertain of what to do next.  
  
Summer put down the brush and patted the bed. "Come here. You should rest before you go," she adjured.  
  
She realized how tired he must be when he didn't argue but crawled up the bed and threw himself across her lap. His arms banded around her waist tightly and his face pressed against her thigh. Summer gently stroked his back with one hand while the other ran slowly up his arm, riding over the smooth bicep and the cotton of his T-shirt sleeve and stopping at his shoulder where she massaged little circles. Looking down at him, she could only see a portion of his face; the strong jaw, dominant nose and thick eyelashes resting against his cheek. In that quiet, intimate moment an unexpected surge of emotion coursed through her and for the first time Summer felt the words 'I love you' poised on her tongue, aching to be released.  
  
But they weren't the kind of couple who said that either, so she swallowed hard and moved her hand from his shoulder, threading her fingers through his hair to cradle the back of his head and pull him even tighter against her belly. He imperceptibly sighed and turned his face deeper into her denim-clad torso.  
  
Summer gave what comfort she could. She held him close and waited to see what would happen next.  
  
To be continued....  
  
Reader participation time.  
  
I stopped at this quiet moment because I'm not sure what happens next either. My original plan called for Summer to accompany Ryan every step of the way so she could be witness to what he goes through as he finds Dawn in the nastiest area of town and tries to figure out a way to help her. But the more I wrote, the more my conviction grew that there's no way in hell Ryan would ever endanger someone he cares about by taking them to a crack house. I could simply not create a believable scenario in which he would do that.  
  
So, what to do? Have Summer follow him anyway much as Marissa did in the Thanksgiving ep? Don't like it. Have her wait in the motel as promised, missing out on the angst-ridden reunion of Dawn and Ryan but then have him bring his mom back to the motel and....the idea trails off here. Change POV to Ryan's so we can see what happens? Or get really radical and write it from some random third person POV – maybe a half crazy homeless person or something – that would be unique. But I hate to change POV, because this is Summer's story.  
  
Another problem is that all I know of drug houses is from watching "Trainspotting" and a lot of TV. There's nothing worse than someone who knows absolutely nothing about the reality of a place trying to believably write about it. I'd like nothing better than to gloss right over the "meeting in the ghetto" scene but it seems like cheating somehow. People want to witness Ryan confronting his mama again.  
  
The ultimate point of this story is not "Ryan saves Dawn" but "Ryan learns how to let go when a situation is beyond his control even if someone he loves is hurting." This whole White Night complex has got to end and with Summer's practical approach to girlfriending, I think he can get past it.  
  
Anyway, I'm open to all suggestions or plot ideas – not saying I won't end up going my own route anyway, but I'd like to hear some feedback. Maybe to my email address. Thanks y'all. And thanks for your kind reviews for "Summer Time" and the first chapter of "Summer in Chino." 


	3. 3

"Summer in Chino" – chapter 3  
  
I loved everyone's ideas about 'what happens next.' It shows the incredible creativity out there and illustrates how hard the show writers have to work to appease a large fan base in which everyone has their own agenda.  
  
Some of the ideas I read mirrored stuff already percolating in my brain. Some introduced fresh fodder. I finally decided to incorporate a number of elements and several viewpoints, then the thing sort of took on a life of its own and I let it unfold.  
  
*********  
  
"I'm going to kill him," Summer muttered, checking her watch for the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes. "If he gets back here and there's nothing wrong with him, I'm going to smack the snot out of him."  
  
She tried the cell again with the same result and left another seething message. It was obvious Ryan had turned his phone to vibrate and was ignoring it or had turned it off completely. "You are so grounded," she said to the phone. "Denied access to every part of my body until you've groveled ... a lot."  
  
She paced the room another moment then flung herself across the bed and turned up the volume on the TV. "CSI" was on and the last thing she wanted to picture was people cutting into other peoples' flesh so she quickly turned the channel. A "Gilligan's Island" episode was on TV Land and the familiar, pointless antics of the castaways were like comfort food, serving to lull her into a sense of well-being – for a few minutes anyway.  
  
Summer rolled over onto her stomach and checked her watch again. It was five minutes later than the last time she'd looked. "God, Ryan, please be safe," she whimpered as anxious tears welled up in her eyes.  
  
**********  
  
Ryan tried to make himself as unobtrusive as a shadow. The trick was to look strong but non-threatening, to act as if you belonged here but not to infringe on anyone's space, to minimize eye contact yet still give off an aura of confidence so that no one would mess with you. It was all in the presentation.  
  
Unfortunately he didn't need to simply walk through this neighborhood and make it safely back out the other side. He needed to search buildings and ask questions of people who didn't take well to questioning. In this short block there were hundreds of places a person could be; crashed out, hidden from view, blending into the rest of the garbage. Finding his mom without making contact with the natives was going to be impossible.  
  
"Hey hijo, you lookin' for a friend?" A thin brown hand touched his arm and Ryan looked up to find that a boy a bit younger than himself with hard, knowing eyes had joined him on the sidewalk. "I can be your friend. Twenty bucks, I'll show you where to go for the best stuff – clean, no cutting. I'll hook you up."  
  
Ryan shrugged off the hand and continued walking. "No thanks."  
  
"Come on. I know you here for something. Whaddya want? I can get it. Or do it." He clarified, "Do you if you want. Thirty bucks."  
  
Ryan stopped, eyeing the kid's oversized clothes and cocky demeanor. The boy obviously knew his way around and that was priceless right about now. He pulled out his creased and dog-eared photo of Dawn. "I'm looking for her."  
  
"How much," the boy persisted. "I never seen the puta but you pay me and I help you find her."  
  
Ryan considered. "You find her then I'll pay you," he negotiated.  
  
"Aw, man. You don't trust me? I'm hurt," the boy laughed and clasped a hand to his heart.  
  
"Her dealer's name is Jose." Ryan had called Lucy from the motel and pumped her for every scrap of information she could give that might help him in his search but all she could recall was the pusher's first name.  
  
"Jose? We're in Chino, esse. Do you know how many fuckin' Joses there are?"  
  
"You want the money?" Ryan gave him a quizzical look and the kid shrugged.  
  
"See what I can do. Where you gonna be?"  
  
Ryan gestured to a house nearby which looked like it had survived a bomb blast. Most of the windows were broken or boarded, the roof sagged and half the shingles were missing, the front porch floor was riddled with holes. Trash littered the strip of brown grass in front of it. A skinny girl was picking her way across the minefield of the porch and entering the front door.  
  
"There?" The boy was incredulous. "Man, you ignorant. You don't just go in 'less someone say you cool. There's like rules and shit. You're gonna get your ass beat from hell to Sunday poking around in there."  
  
Ryan hesitated. It was true he didn't know how things worked here. The homeless and drug addicts, the whores, pimps and dealers all had a place in the hierarchy of their own society. He was as much an outsider here as he'd ever been in Newport.  
  
Ryan's self-appointed guide sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. "You just pitiful!" He grabbed Ryan's arm again and pulled him along toward the house. "Come on. You stick with me I'll fix you up, then we can talk about what it's worth to you."  
  
Ryan allowed himself to be led along. He didn't know if he was walking into a trap. No doubt the kid had friends waiting who would roll him for his wallet, which was safely back in the jeep at a MacDonald's a few blocks away, but he had to take a chance. It was pretty obvious he was going to get nowhere on his own.  
  
They crossed the rotting boards and entered the house. Ryan felt as trapped as when he had walked into jail that first time. He could feel the phone in his pocket vibrate against his leg. He probably should've called Summer one last time before he cut off communication. She was definitely gonna kill him.  
  
*************  
  
The phone rang and Summer jerked from her TV induced trance then fumbled and dropped it in her haste to answer. She didn't bother identifying the caller before answering, "Hello?"  
  
"Hey. Remember me?" A stranger's husky voice snapped her wide awake.  
  
"Um, no," she answered. "Refresh me."  
  
"Talked to you earlier today. You were wearing those tight little shorts, showing off them fine legs."  
  
"Yeah. That's me," Summer's voice hardened. "What do you want?"  
  
"Oh come on. Don't be like that. Here I call to do you a favor and all you can be is mean."  
  
"Sorry," Summer weighed the idea that the caller might actually have useful information and found it doubtful but just listening couldn't hurt. "I'm a little tired. Do you know something about the woman in the picture? Dawn?"  
  
"Well now, I might." The voice paused. "Is your friend around?"  
  
"Uh, he's in the other room. Why?"  
  
"I don't know. I thought maybe we could meet somewhere ... just you and me. And then I could tell you what I know."  
  
"Oh for god's sake," Summer exploded. "Don't waste my time, dickhead. And don't call back again." She furiously punched the Stop button and tossed the cell onto the bed. All right, maybe giving her number out to Chino at large had not been such a wise move after all. The last thing she needed was some idiot tying up her phone while Ryan was trying to call.  
  
She picked it up again and stared at it. For that matter he might have tried to call just now and found it busy. Fully realizing that she was bordering on obsessive, Summer dialed Ryan's cell number again.  
  
*************  
  
Charles Murchison had lived on Mariposa Street all his life. He had grown up in number 4523, where he lived with his parents, his brother, Tom and sisters, Edna and Louise. Of course mama and daddy were long since passed on, little Louise too. She had died of polio back in 1953. Tom had left home in a rage at daddy when the brothers were just teenagers and no one had heard from him since. Edna lived with her family down in Florida and Charles hadn't seen her in years. He did get a nice Christmas card from her every year, which showed how her family had bloomed and grown.  
  
Charles had never left his childhood home. It was the only thing he owned. Times had gotten rough after the plant closed in the mid '80s and he lost his job. But by then he was close enough to retirement to live off his savings until social security kicked in and, not being a self-starter, had been content to live modestly rather than find another job. For a shy and quiet man, who had worked the line for thirty years, the idea of facing a job interview was terrifying.  
  
Charles had watched the pleasant, family oriented neighborhood of his youth begin the slow decline to poverty during the recession of the 1970's. Houses grew shabbier. Families moved away and landlords bought up the homes and rented them out to tenants who couldn't care less about upkeep. When the plant closed and jobs disappeared, the only successful occupation around became the drug trade.  
  
The first time Charles had been walking home from the store and come across an exchange of money for coke right on the sidewalk by his house, he had been shocked and outraged. He crossed the street, pretending not to see, and then re-crossed to scurry into his front door and head straight for the phone. He called the police and informed them of what he had seen. A nice lady officer took down everything he said and promised to send a squad car around. Charles sat by the window, peering through his blinds and waiting all afternoon. The police did finally arrive ... two days later.  
  
That was five years ago. Now Charles could walk past whores and their customers screwing up against a wall in broad daylight or addicts passed out in an alley with the needle still in their vein without batting an eye. This was his neighborhood. His street. He would never leave 'til they took him away in a coroner's van.  
  
But strangely enough he was in no danger in this hostile environment. Charles was part of the scenery, as useless and harmless as a tree or a rock. His clothes were so threadbare it was obvious he wasn't worth mugging. His house had been broken into a couple of times but there was nothing valuable to take and soon his home was as ignored as Charles himself.  
  
Every day the old man went through the same routine; morning cup of coffee with the news, a nap, housecleaning while he listened to his favorite Dean Martin or Perry Como album, a nap, sandwich and soup for lunch, a nap, then Charles would put Pouncer on his leash and take a long walk to downtown and back. His mama had taught Charles that exercise and clean living were the path to God and he still practiced what she had preached.  
  
Charles' best friend and companion was the striped tabby cat. Through her he talked to many more people than he ever would have walking alone. People stopped to pet the animal and consequently chat with the elderly man.  
  
Late afternoon found Charles in his armchair napping. He cooked himself a well-balanced meal at 6:00, napped during the news, watched an old movie or a ball game on television then retired for the night. But once in bed, he often found it impossible to sleep. Tonight was one of those nights.  
  
Charles rose, dressed, and went downstairs. He went out on the front porch to try to catch whatever passed for a cool breeze on this hot, muggy night. Invisible, he sat in his circa 1960's aluminum frame, plastic weave lawn chair and watched his street.  
  
Across the street he saw that little bastard who had thrown a brick through his living room window just for the hell of it. He was sure that kid was the culprit because the next time Charles was out walking Pouncer the kid came up to him and asked all big-eyed and innocent what had happened to his window. Little bastard.  
  
Tonight the delinquent was walking with a kid Charles had never seen around here before. That wasn't unusual. A lot of strangers came to Mariposa to buy what they couldn't get in their own neighborhoods. But something about the pair caught Charles' attention. He sat quietly holding the cat on his lap, and watched them make their way across the street heading toward him.  
  
"Listen, bro," the thin, dark boy was saying. "You gonna pay me or what?"  
  
"For what?" the light-haired one responded. "We haven't found her yet."  
  
"Maybe not, but I saved your ass back there. Without your amigo Miguel vouching for you, you woulda been beat up or stabbed or shot or...."  
  
"Right." The taller boy shook his head but fished in his jeans pocket, pulled out a crumpled bill and tossed it at his companion. "Here's five bucks for having my back."  
  
"Oh! Cheap, man! You are sooo cheap," Miguel complained, stuffing the money in his pocket. "That all your life's worth to you, pindejo?"  
  
"More later if you can point me to Jose."  
  
"I don't know." The latino boy posed with one hand to his chin as if lost in thought. "I'm tryin' hard to remember whether I ever heard of this guy before but," he clicked his tongue, "you know, five bucks don't really stir my memory."  
  
His companion turned and started to walk away then suddenly stopped dead practically right in front of Charles' front porch. The old man looked down the street to see what had caught his attention. A little farther down the sidewalk a blond woman had just emerged from what used to be the Brewster's house when Charles was growing up. His best friend Tony had lived there until he joined the Army and got killed in Korea at age nineteen.  
  
The woman was arguing with a man, whom Charles recognized as one of the regular drug-pushing, pimping predators in the neighborhood. Over the years Charles had come to a sort of sad understanding of the addicts and a weary resignation about the pushers, but every once in a while the old, white-hot anger at their presence on his street kicked in.  
  
The argument escalated to violence. The man grabbed the woman by the arm and shook her as he yelled in her face. Below Charles on the sidewalk the boy remained frozen. Miguel came up alongside him to see what he was looking at. "Hey, isn't that the putana in the picture? We found her, man."  
  
At that moment the pusher slapped the woman across the face, knocking her to the ground and the boy broke from his trance and charged toward the fighting couple.  
  
"Oh no, esse, you don't want to do that," the skinny, little troublemaker called out, and Charles had to agree with him.  
  
The other boy barreled into the pusher at full speed, knocking him back with a shoulder to the gut. Taken by surprise, the man grunted and bent double as the wind was knocked out of him. The boy didn't give him time to recover but regained his balance and drove a knee up into his face. The man's hands flew to his nose as blood gushed to the pavement.  
  
Meanwhile, the woman on the ground was climbing to her feet. "Ryan?" she called out. Her voice captured the boy's attention. He turned to her for the split second it took the pusher to collect himself and enter the fray. The man straightened up, shaking his head and spattering blood everywhere. He emitted a cry of rage and clocked the boy on the side of his head with one hard fist.  
  
Both Charles and the little street rat, Miguel, winced.  
  
The sandy-haired boy was knocked sideways by the blow. He staggered but caught himself then returned a punch to his opponent's face.  
  
"And just who the hell are you?" the man bellowed. He pummeled the kid repeatedly in the head, forcing him into defensive mode. Arms raised to block, the boy had no opportunity to hit back.  
  
"Stop it! Jose, don't!!" the woman screamed, launching herself at the attacker. She grabbed at his arm and he shook her off with a curse and almost casually drove his elbow into her breast. The blond cried out in pain.  
  
Jose frowned at her. "Stupid, bitch." He turned his attention back to the boy, who was swaying unsteadily on his feet, and with one well-placed kick, swept his legs out from under him sending him crashing to the ground. He delivered a kick to the boy's ribs for good measure.  
  
"Shi-it!" the skinny boy hissed in sympathy. He began to sidle away down the sidewalk.  
  
Charles had unconsciously risen to his feet. He hesitated trying to figure out what to do. Calling the police was futile. The damage would be done before they arrived – if they ever arrived. He could go back in the house and lock the doors and pretend he'd never gotten out of bed. That sounded very good, very smart, very safe and he started for the front door.  
  
But just then the injured boy started to get up. He was clumsily rising to his hands and knees like Paul Newman in "Cool Hand Luke," as the woman yelled at him, "Stay down, Ryan" and at the angry man, "Leave him alone!"  
  
"Who the fuck is this kid, Dawn?" the pusher asked, dabbing at his nose and watching the boy's slow movements like he was an interesting exhibit.  
  
"He's my son," she gasped. "Please, I'm begging you, don't hurt him."  
  
"Your son? Well, maybe HE has my money?" He leaned over the boy and shouted. "You want to help your mom out, hijo? You got a eight hundred bucks on you?"  
  
When the boy had first started to climb to his feet, Charles had continued to move soundlessly toward the front door, Pouncer squirming in his hands to be let down. He saw Miguel, below him on the sidewalk, glance up at the movement. They exchanged a wordless look as Charles entered his house and closed the door behind him.  
  
His heart hammered in his chest. Charles suddenly realized it wasn't only a reaction to the fight taking place outside. It was because he was going to do something about the fight and the injured boy who might just end up dead if he didn't get involved.  
  
Charles put the cat down, went to the front hall closet and took out a shoebox that had been buried in the back corner. He opened it and took out his daddy's service revolver. His father had only taken him to a shooting range once when he was twelve then dismissed Charles as a hopeless pansy and never let him touch the firearm again. But Charles knew how to load and how to pull a trigger – any fool could do that. The aiming part he wasn't too worried about since he didn't really intend to shoot anybody.  
  
When he re-emerged from the house, the fight was still in progress. Or more precisely, the boy was prone on the ground and the mother was screaming and trying to pull Jose away from him. The other boy had disappeared from sight.  
  
Charles stood on his front porch and hesitated once more. He was inviting a world of trouble onto himself by crossing this criminal, but when he saw the hoodlum kick his victim again, the elderly man broke his silence.  
  
"Hey!" he yelled. Jose stopped what he was doing and looked up in surprise, frowning as he peered through the shadows trying to make out the figure on the porch. "Leave him be!"  
  
Charles had the odd sensation that it wasn't him speaking. The authoritative tone, which emerged from his mouth, sounded like his father. Charles had rarely raised his voice to anyone in his entire life.  
  
The drug dealer took a few steps toward Charles' house. Behind him the boy's mother was down on her knees, checking on the damage to her son. "What?" Jose asked, continuing to advance when he saw that it was only a scrawny old man yelling at him.  
  
Charles raised his pistol. The ambient light shone off the gleaming metal. Jose stopped walking. "Move along now," Charles demanded, as if he expected to be obeyed. A thrill of power rushed through him as he saw the man hesitate.  
  
"You're threatening me?" Jose let out a sharp bark of laughter at the effrontery of the old man. "I don't think so." He stepped forward again. "I'm willing to bet it's not even loaded."  
  
Without pausing or thinking, Charles squeezed the trigger. A shot rang out and Jose dove to the ground. "Jesus Christ!" The dealer rolled to his feet and backed away quickly. "You're crazy!"  
  
Charles chambered another bullet. This was so much easier than he had expected.  
  
Jose turned without another word and began to run. Charles watched him disappear down the street and between two houses then he lowered the gun. "Is everything all right?" he called out to the lady, who was still stooping over her son. The boy appeared to be moving, trying to get up. "Shall I call an ambulance?"  
  
"Holy shit, viejo! That was fuckin' amazing!" Miguel had emerged from shadows and was standing on Charles' piece of sidewalk again. He shook his head. "You in a world of trouble. Jose's gonna wipe the street with your ass."  
  
Charles had to concur. Now that the adrenalin rush and righteous anger were draining away, he felt shaky and fearful. Tonight was probably the stupidest act he had ever committed in his whole life. Repercussions were inevitable. Charles was no longer an invisible man on Mariposa Street.  
  
Miguel trotted toward the injured boy, who had risen to his feet supported by his mother.  
  
"I'll call an ambulance," Charles repeated.  
  
"No. I'm okay," the young man choked out. "I'll be fine."  
  
"You don't look fine, man." Miguel skittered along in front of them as Dawn helped Ryan slowly along the sidewalk. She looked up at Charles who still stood, gun dropped to his side, watching them.  
  
"Please. My son's hurt. Can we come in for a minute."  
  
Charles sighed. He was exhausted now and terrified and wanted nothing more than to retreat into his home and curl up under the covers and pretend it had all been a nightmare. The pistol in his hand dragged his arm down with the weight of a canonball.  
  
"All right," he answered. Opening his front door, the old man stood aside to let them pass; the weeping woman, the beaten boy, and the Latino delinquent. For the first time in over a dozen years someone was invited into Charles' Murchison's house.  
  
************  
  
Summer toyed with the cell phone in her hand turning it end over end. At one point her finger hovered over the button that would dial the Cohen's house. She tried to imagine what she would say to Sandy, how she could enlist his aid without breaking Ryan's trust. It was after 1:00 now and she was beyond nervous. Her stomach hurt and her head was pounding from going over every possible scenario involving Ryan and wondering if she should be calling the police or Sandy or just chasing after him herself.  
  
She jumped up from the bed and started to walk around the tiny room again. Ryan had taken the jeep but it was possible for her to call a cab. She went to the nightstand, picked up the beige plastic receiver and pressed 0 for the front desk. "Yes, could you please give me the number of a local cab company?"  
  
Summer's cell phone burbled out its electronic melody. "Never mind," she said to the desk clerk. She simultaneously hung up the motel phone and pressed talk on her own.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Hey, it's me."  
  
"No kidding. What the hell happened to you?" Summer tried to calm her wildly beating heart. No doubt Ryan had been through hell and the last thing he needed was for her to go all shrewish.  
  
"Long story. I'll be back in a while," his voice was emotionless. Summer couldn't read anything from it. She needed to see his face.  
  
"But you found her?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And...?"  
  
"You were right," he said heavily. "Nothing changes."  
  
To be continued....  
  
This story grew on its own and took a direction I wasn't expecting. I did intend to use Charles Murchison as a tool to illustrate how urban decay directly affects an individual, but I thought he was going to be strictly an observer not a participant – until he suddenly took a stand and pulled a gun. I was shocked. Shocked I tell you. I thought he would just sit on his porch and watch things unfold. But then I didn't know Ryan was going to get beaten up. I had planned a simple, verbal confrontation between Ryan and Dawn, but when the drug dealer showed up, kablooey – instant violence. 


	4. 4

"Summer in Chino" – chapter 4  
  
Thanks again for all the feedback. No matter how long I write, I never outgrow the need for approbation to encourage me to keep on, like a child on a diving board crying, "Look at me! See what I can do!" It's humiliating really.  
  
I was very curious about how a completely new character like Charles would be received. I'm glad everyone found him interesting. There really is this old guy in our town who lives above one of the stores and spends his days sitting in front of the News Agency with his cat on a leash. I'm a bad person. I've never talked to him.  
  
************  
  
"Hi. It's me again," Summer said into the phone.  
  
"Me who?" a light, boyish voice answered.  
  
"Ryan?" she asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Who the hell is this?"  
  
"Miguel. Who the hell is this?"  
  
"None of your business. Where's Ryan and what are you doing with his phone?"  
  
"He left it on the table. He's up in the bathroom with his mom. Getting cleaned up."  
  
"What?! What the hell is going on? Who are you?"  
  
"Oh, you missed it, chica. A huge fight. Huge! See there was this guy and.... Hey!!"  
  
There was a long pause and Summer heard muffled voices arguing.  
  
"Hello?" an old man's querulous voice said. "May I help you?"  
  
"Yes, you may help me." Summer's tone was edging toward hysteria. "Who are you and what's happened to Ryan?"  
  
"I'm Mr. Murchison," he enunciated carefully and spoke loudly as if doubting the power of the tiny cell phone to amplify his voice. "Mr. Charles Murchison."  
  
"Where's Ryan?"  
  
"He's up in the bathroom with his mother getting cle...."  
  
"Yeah. I caught that. I mean where in Chino is Ryan and who the hell are you people and what's wrong with my boyfriend!!" Her stressful evening had driven Summer to a towering fury.  
  
"Please calm down Miss...?"  
  
"Summer. My name is Summer."  
  
"Your friend is going to be all right, Miss Summers. He was involved in ... a little tussle, but there weren't any serious injuries."  
  
"Serious injuries! A fight? Damn him. He didn't tell me about any of this when he called." Summer took a moment to breath then using her sweetest candy striper voice began again. "Okay, Mr., um, Murchison, I want you to please give me your address now."  
  
"Oh. I'm not sure that's a good idea," he began, "Your friend Ryan should be leaving soon and.... Don't touch that you'll break it!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Pardon me," the old man continued. "There are already so many people here and I don't know if...."  
  
"People? Who else is there?"  
  
There was another long pause and arguing voices again.  
  
"....me that, you stupid old man. Hello? Chica?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"So are you like my boy's girlfriend or something?"  
  
"Who is this?"  
  
"Miguel! Remember? I just talked to you. What's your name?"  
  
"Ask Mr. Murchison," she said dryly. "Look! I've had enough. I want you to take the phone to Ryan right now."  
  
"Chill, bitch! I can do that but I don't know if he's up for talking, see what I'm sayin'?"  
  
"Who the hell ARE you? An old friend? What?" She shook her head. "Never mind. Here's what we're gonna do. You're going to give me the address of where you're at and I'm going to come there. And I want you to tell Ryan Atwood to sit tight and not move 'til I get there. You got it?"  
  
"Yeeow, feisty! I like that."  
  
There was another pause.  
  
"Miss Summers? This is Charles Murchison again. Hello."  
  
"Yeah. Hello, Mr. Murchison. You mind please giving me your address? Now. Please."  
  
"4235 Mariposa Street. But I really wouldn't advise..."  
  
"Yeah. Okay. Bu-bye now." Summer hung up and quickly pushed the number of the cab company. Fifteen minutes after her earlier conversation with Ryan she had decided that she had waited in this stupid motel room long enough, called the front desk and gotten the number. Whatever the hell was going on at Mariposa Street, Summer was about to crash it.  
  
She turned her phone to vibrate and smiled. Let Ryan just try to call her back, he'd see how it felt to have his calls unanswered.  
  
***************  
  
The cab driver did not want to take her to Mariposa, but when she said, "Fine. Leave me at the nearest intersection and I'll walk," he tsked and complained but caved.  
  
He drove slowly up the street as Summer searched for a house number on the hovels they passed. When they found 4253, it was obvious even before reading the number that this was the place. It was the only house that looked remotely habitable.  
  
Summer paid the driver, tipping him well for the extra trouble, then stepped from the cab with some trepidation. She walked quickly to the front door and rang the bell and then knocked for good measure.  
  
There was a twitch of blinds as someone peered out at her then she heard footsteps approaching the door and the same young voice from the phone say, "I got it, viejo." After a pause and the metallic sound of unfastening locks, the door opened to reveal a short, skinny latino boy who looked Summer up and down like she was a particularly nice side of beef he was considering buying.  
  
"Heeello!" he drawled with a leer. Summer didn't dignify him with a reply but pushed past him into the house.  
  
She stormed through the foyer to the living room. Ryan was half reclining on the couch, propped against a couple of pillows. His mother was in a chair by his side and the old man, Mr. Murchison, was rising from an armchair and coming toward Summer, hand extended in greeting. She breezed past him as well, marching straight over to Ryan.  
  
"Oh my god, look at you!" she exclaimed. Her righteous indignation and the carefully worded rant she had planned on her way here disappeared. She dropped to her knees beside the couch.  
  
One side of Ryan's face was swollen and marred with abrasions. It looked like it would turn all shades of bruise before long. The eye on the injured side was almost sealed shut. His lip was split. He was shirtless and an ace bandage was wrapped around his ribs. There were more marks and scrapes on one shoulder and both arms. The knuckles of his hand, holding a steaming mug, were also swollen and red.  
  
Glaring, Summer turned to Dawn, who looked pretty messed up herself. "Why didn't you take him to the emergency?" she demanded. "Something might be broken!"  
  
"I...." Dawn trailed off. Fresh tears began to course down her cheeks and she put a hand to her mouth.  
  
"It's all right. Nothing's broken," Ryan assured. "It looks worse than it is."  
  
"How do you know? You could have internal bleeding ... or a concussion. You should be checked out. Did anyone even THINK of calling 911?" Summer continued vehemently.  
  
"And where are the police?" She whirled toward the old man. "Did you even call them? We should be at a hospital or a police station right now, not having a tea party with Mr. Rogers."  
  
"Stop it," Ryan snapped irritably. "You're not helping."  
  
There was a pause then he softened his words by reaching out and taking her hand in his. He regained his usual calm, even tone. "I'm going to be all right. Don't worry."  
  
Summer bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. After an evening of waiting anxiously and helplessly, she had really needed to vent about something - anything. But she'd be damned if she'd let her nerves get the better of her and break down crying. She glanced over at Dawn sitting in her chair looking like the poster woman for domestic violence or perhaps an anti-drug campaign. Her eyes were red-rimmed and dull, her skin pale and blotchy, her hair lank and shaggy. Yet Summer didn't pity her one bit.  
  
One of the first things Summer had learned when she was in therapy the summer after her mom left was that 'assigning blame' helped no one. She'd never really been sold on that tenet. Right now she would like nothing better than to kick that stupid cow, Dawn, to the curb for creating a situation, which not only put Ryan in danger but also ripped his heart out. Hell, for that matter the witch had a whole lifetime of damaging behavior to account for.  
  
Summer's eyes skewered Dawn like twin lasers, causing the woman to shift uncomfortably in her chair and drop her gaze to the floor. The girl took a deep breath and turned to Ryan again. "All right." She smiled and squeezed his hand, gently so she wouldn't hurt it. "Chilling out now. I promise."  
  
"Miss Summers?" a tentative voice broke in. "May I get you something to drink?"  
  
Summer looked up and actually registered the old man this time. Her eyes widened in surprise as the image of the man with his cat on the street flashed in her mind. Just then, confirming her recognition, a striped tabby strolled through the living room, totally ignoring all the strangers who had invaded her space.  
  
"Uh, yeah. I mean, yes, please," Summer stammered.  
  
"I have coffee, hot cocoa or ... tea."  
  
"Hot cocoa, please," she answered formally, feeling like she'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.  
  
The old gentleman turned and shuffled slowly toward the kitchen, kitty bumping up against his legs and weaving around him, hopeful of a late night treat.  
  
"Okay. Does anyone want to tell me what exactly happened tonight," Summer began in her most reasonable tone as she turned to face Ryan and his mom again.  
  
"I will!" The street kid, who had been circling the room, picking things up, examining them then putting them down again, came over and perched on the arm of the couch behind Ryan. "It was fuckin' amazing, chica. You shoulda seen your boy here. One second I was talkin' to him, the next he was charging this dude like he's crazy. He knocked the guy back and kneed him in the face. But then the guy...."  
  
"Why are you even still here?" Ryan interrupted, twisting his head around to cast an icy glare at the boy.  
  
"I'm still waiting for my money, esse. Figure you owe me at least twenty bucks," he replied calmly.  
  
"For what?!"  
  
"Finding your madre." The kid gestured at Dawn. "There she is, right?"  
  
"You didn't find her," Ryan started to protest then gave up with a shrug. "You know what? Doesn't matter. Fine." He thrust his mug at Miguel, who took it and began to drink. Ryan let go of Summer's hand and, wincing, shifted so that he could reach into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a few bills. "Here you go. This is what I have left," he said, handing it to the boy.  
  
Miguel took it and quickly counted. "Thirteen bucks! I spend my whole night helpin' you out and all you got for me is thirteen bucks?" he said in disgust.  
  
"Summer?" Ryan asked. "You got anything?"  
  
She rummaged in her purse and found another forty but only showed the boy a five-dollar bill. "That's all I've got," she announced.  
  
A thin brown hand quickly snatched it from hers. Miguel gave her an evil look as if he knew she was holding back, but he didn't protest.  
  
"So are you gonna go now or what?" Ryan asked.  
  
"Just a minute, bro. I'm drinkin' my cocoa."  
  
Suddenly Dawn roused from her stupor and began talking. "Why'd you come here, Ry? Why'd you look for me?" She managed to sound weary, sad and angry simultaneously. "What were you expecting to find?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"I left you with the Cohens for a reason, you know, so this kind of shit wouldn't happen. You were supposed to be safe."  
  
Ryan looked down and picked at the ace bandage.  
  
"Who told you where I was anyway?" Dawn continued petulantly.  
  
"Theresa," Summer fielded the question. "She was under the mistaken impression that you could, I don't know, use some help. Shame on her for caring!"  
  
A spark of anger livened Dawn's tired, drawn features. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
"I'm Summer," she answered in a challenging tone. "Ryan's girlfriend."  
  
"Well, listen little girl. This is family business so why don't you just keep your mouth shut, okay?"  
  
"Mom!" Ryan glared at her.  
  
"Hey, I don't need some spoiled Newport princess interfering in my life or giving me advice," Dawn shot back.  
  
"You from Newport? Well that explains a lot," Miguel interrupted. He was watching the participants in the unfolding argument like a fan at a three- way tennis match.  
  
"Explains what?" Summer asked defensively.  
  
"Why you such a high-powered bee-yach!" he laughed.  
  
Without looking, Ryan reached over his shoulder and delivered a hard rap to the boy's chest. "Watch it."  
  
Miguel moved from his perch on the arm of the couch, rubbing his chest and sulking. "I'm just sayin'."  
  
"It seems to me," Summer turned her attention back to Dawn, "that you should be grateful that your son cares enough to search all over Chino for you and you should be apologizing for putting him through all this drama."  
  
"Shut up," Dawn snapped.  
  
"Who was this guy Ryan was fighting, anyway?" Summer asked acidly. "Another of your 'boyfriends.'"  
  
"It was her pimp, Jose," Miguel supplied, grinning with delight at the cat spat.  
  
"He's not my pimp," Dawn said, frowning.  
  
"No. Your dealer," Ryan interjected. His mouth was a thin line of disapproval and he stared at her until she couldn't hold his gaze and looked away.  
  
"Nice," Summer said. She stood up from kneeling on the floor by Ryan's side and sat down on the couch next to his legs.  
  
Just then Mr. Murchison returned with a hot mug, which Summer accepted gratefully. She sipped at what turned out to be hot water with not nearly enough cocoa mix in it. She smiled at the old man who was hovering anxiously. "Mm, delicious. Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome." He returned her smile then went over to his armchair and lowered himself onto it.  
  
Dawn was perched on the edge of her seat now, one leg jiggling either from nerves or withdrawal. "All right. So I screwed up," she resumed the conversation. "And I already apologized to Ryan," she directed to Summer.  
  
"Oh, was that while you were bandaging him up after he was nearly killed because of you?" Summer replied, smooth as butter.  
  
"Stop it," Ryan urged her quietly. He gave her one of his puppydog 'please' looks and Summer subsided. She decided she would literally bite her tongue if any more sarcastic comments to Dawn tried to pass her lips.  
  
"Honey," Dawn began again, facing Ryan and reaching out a hand as if to take his then dropping it when he didn't respond. "I'm ... messed up." She laughed bitterly. "That's an understatement. But ... I don't want you to try to help me. You should go back to Newport. You belong there now."  
  
Finally something Summer could agree with. She took another sip of her sad little cup of hot chocolate and waited to see what Ryan would say.  
  
He shook his head. "Mom, I can't just leave you like this." He looked at her beseechingly. "I can't."  
  
"Yes," she said tiredly. "You can. You have to. It's not your life to figure out."  
  
"At least let us give you a ride someplace, another town maybe, where that guy won't find you."  
  
Dawn shrugged. "We'll see. Maybe." She tossed back her hair and straightened her shoulders. "But right now you should get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning."  
  
"I'll call a taxi and we can go back to the motel," Summer said, reaching into her purse for her phone.  
  
Miguel laughed. "Ain't no taxi gonna come here this time of night," he scoffed.  
  
Summer looked at Ryan's pale, tense face. "Well we can't walk to the jeep. You're in no condition."  
  
"I'm fine." He moved to get off the couch, winced again and clutched his ribs.  
  
"Like I said, no condition."  
  
Charles cleared his throat. "You.... I suppose you could sleep here. There are several bedrooms. Of course, they haven't been used in years. They may be rather dusty...."  
  
"Can't be any worse than that fleabag motel," Summer asserted. "That would be wonderful, Mr. Murchison. Thank you."  
  
"No. We should go. You've done too much already," Ryan said. "I feel bad enough that you're in trouble with this Jose guy because of us."  
  
"Nonsense. It was my decision," the old man said, a little more assertively. "I've kept my mouth shut and my head down for too many years. It was past time I took some action."  
  
"You was like Vin Diesel openin' a can of whup-ass," Miguel chortled. "All 'don't fuck with me, fucker.' Funniest thing I ever seen!" He turned to Summer to explain, "See, this old guy pulled a gun and started shooting up the street, and Jose's like divin' for cover and peein' his pants tryin' to get away. Fuckin' hilarious!"  
  
"Really. I insist." Charles ignored the interruption. "Sleep a few hours at least."  
  
"That would be great." Summer overrode any other protests Ryan might make. She rose from the couch saying, "Just lead the way."  
  
"Thank you," Dawn added politely. "For letting us into your home."  
  
"So everybody's spendin' the night?" Miguel asked. "What about me?"  
  
"Don't you have someplace to go?" Mr. Murchison asked dryly.  
  
"No, man. Do I look like I got someplace to go?"  
  
Charles sighed heavily. "All right. You can sleep on the couch."  
  
"Oh, that's right. Give all the white folks the beds and let the minority sleep on the couch."  
  
**********  
  
When Mr. Murchison opened the door to his parents' old bedroom, Summer felt like she had stumbled onto a set from "That 70's Show." The bedspread was sprigged with green and gold leaves and maybe some acorns, she wasn't quite sure. The curtains were also a shade of green, which wasn't lime or avocado or olive but some weird hybrid of the three. And the carpet was gold and shaggy.  
  
Mr. M. was right, a layer of dust covered everything, and Summer felt a tickle in her nose. The room was stifling hot. The old man moved slowly to the window, drew back the curtains and opened it. A faint, warm breeze gusted through the room.  
  
"I'm sorry it's so hot. I don't have air conditioning," he said apologetically.  
  
'Duh. No kidding,' Summer though uncharitably but said, "That's all right. This will be just fine for us."  
  
"Oh!" There was a long pause. "Miss Summers, I, uh, thought you could sleep in my sisters' room with...." he gestured at Dawn, who stood in the doorway.  
  
"No. I'll stay here with Ryan, thanks," Summer said. Then, realizing that she was talking to Grandpa McGrampy, who might have a problem with an unmarried couple sleeping together, she added, "In case he needs anything."  
  
Ryan stood in the center of the room, pale and sweating from his exertion climbing the stairs. He looked like he was going to pass out if he didn't lie down soon. Summer quickly threw back the covers from the double bed. Ryan sat carefully on the edge and then eased himself back onto the mattress, groaning softly. Summer fussed about, removing his shoes and spreading the sheet over him. It was far too hot for any more covers than that.  
  
Dawn crossed the room and lingered by Ryan's side for a moment. She smoothed his hair back then bent to kiss his forehead. "I'm so sorry, kiddo," she whispered. "About everything." Ryan's eyes were already drifting shut and he didn't acknowledge her.  
  
Dawn straightened. From opposite sides of the bed, she and Summer locked gazes for several seconds, and then Ryan's mother turned and left the room with Mr. Murchison.  
  
Summer turned off the light, walked to the window and breathed in deeply. She couldn't believe the old man didn't at least dig up a fan to help circulate the air a little. She pulled off her shirt and shorts and slipped into bed dressed in the no-longer-new-and-actually-pretty-sweaty, silver and blue bikini.  
  
Looking around the bedroom, she thought about Mr. Murchison's parents spending their entire married life in this house, sleeping in this bed, moving about in this room, and actually choosing that hideous green and gold wallpaper on purpose. She glanced over at Ryan and it looked like he was already asleep, but just then his one good eye flickered open and he looked back at her.  
  
Summer reached out nd gently touched the side of his swollen face then she scooched close and leaned in to place a butterfly soft kiss on his split lip. Drawing back she smiled and said, "Ryan Atwood, you have got to take an anger management course."  
  
He tried to smile back. She could tell because his lips twitched.  
  
"I'm glad you're here," he murmured.  
  
"I don't take well to being left behind," she answered flippantly. She gave him another careful peck on the lips before relaxing back onto her own pillow. Ryan lay flat on his back, one hand resting on Summer's hip. She lay on her side facing him, with her left hand splayed on his warm chest. As she listened to his breathing slow and deepen, her eyes closed.  
  
Then Ryan whispered sleepily, "Love you," and Summer's eyes flew open.  
  
She stared at him but he appeared totally unconscious. She wondered if he was even aware of what he'd said. Probably not. Mr. Murchison had dosed him with some of his arthritis painkillers, which she hoped the old man had had sense enough to hide from the two addicts in the house.  
  
His words didn't mean anything. No. It was just exhaustion and good meds.  
  
Although exhausted from her day in Chino, Summer laid wide awake for a long time watching Ryan sleep.  
  
To be continued.... 


	5. 5

"Summer in Chino" – Chapter 5  
  
Advance warning: This is the last chapter so if you were expecting a protracted saga you can stop expecting it. There will probably be other stories in this Ryan/Summer AU because I still feel there is a lot that can be told about them as a couple. There may be a fic about Theresa's wedding, bringing Seth along and having him hook up with a chick from Chino perhaps. There may be a ficlet about Ryan and Summer finally, openly admitting 'I love you.' There may be a fight and temporary breakup. I don't know. Anything can happen because it's my own personal OC world!  
  
*************  
  
Summer woke to hazy sunlight shining through smeary windows. For a second she was disoriented. Where was her white canopy? Her soft, Egyptian cotton sheets? Princess Sparkle on her nightstand? And what was that steady thrumming sound in her ear?  
  
She tried to lift her head but something warm and heavy was pressed against it, weighing her hair down. Summer tugged and the weight moved emitting a 'merrow?' Cat! Cat on head! Possible fleas! Summer sat up quickly. The tabby shifted and resettled in the warm indentation Summer's head had left in the pillow.  
  
Seen in the morning light, the bedroom was just as hideous as it had been the previous night if not as stifling hot. Summer looked over her shoulder at Ryan, who was still fast asleep, breathing through his mouth with a light, whistling snore. Tendrils of hair clung to his sweaty forehead. His face was swollen and discolored. Bruises spread out from under the bandage wrapped around his ribcage. He looked like he was going to be in a world of pain when he woke up.  
  
Summer suddenly realized that she'd gotten her wish from yesterday morning. She had spent a whole night with Ryan. When she'd fantasized this, she certainly hadn't expected it to be under such bizarre circumstances and without any sex whatsoever.  
  
Watching his chest rise and fall with each breath, Summer had an overwhelming urge to squeeze him tight. Instead, she touched his arm softly, careful not to wake him. Feeling the warm skin and solid muscle, reassured her that he was alive and well and there. That was good enough. As for the words he'd said last night, she would continue to chalk them up to drug-induced sleepiness. It was easier that way.  
  
She wondered what today would bring. Would Ryan continue to try to find a way to help his mother or would he finally admit defeat. Summer wasn't averse to giving the woman a ride to L.A. or someplace so she could get a fresh start, but she didn't think Dawn was really ready to change. Summer didn't know what the answer was but hoped, for Ryan's sake that they could come up with a workable solution.  
  
After giving the cat a quick pat, she slipped quietly out of bed and got dressed then stooped to retrieve her purse from beside the bed where she'd placed it the night before. It wasn't there. She dropped to her knees, lifted the dust ruffle and looked for it under the bed. There was nothing but dusty shag carpet. Summer's heart raced. Miguel! That creep had actually come into the room while they slept and stolen her purse. It gave her the shudders.  
  
Then a new thought occurred. It was unthinkable yet totally possible. Dawn was, after all, a junkie and everyone knows an addict will steal anything from anyone when they're desperate. Dawn had seen her set her purse down beside the bed.  
  
Summer didn't want to jump to any wrong conclusions. She stood up and looked at the nightstand. Thank god, Ryan's phone was still there. She grabbed it and left the room.  
  
Downstairs, Mr. Murchison was moving around in the kitchen and the smell of frying bacon wafted into the living room. As expected, the couch was Miguel-free. Summer followed the bacon smell into the kitchen.  
  
"Good morning," the old man greeted her as he flipped the sizzling bacon.  
  
"' Morning," she replied. "That kid is gone? He stole my purse!"  
  
"And my father's gun," Mr. Murchison said. "I thought I was so careful when I put it away. I was sure he didn't see. Luckily I tucked my wallet under the mattress, so it's still here."  
  
"That evil, little rat!" Summer stormed. She pressed her cell number on Ryan's phone. Somewhere in Chino it rang.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Miguel, you weasel, I'm gonna kill you!"  
  
"Hey, princessa, how ya doin'?" he answered calmly.  
  
"Couldn't you have even left one credit card so we could get home?" she complained.  
  
"You still got a phone, right?" he replied. "So call your daddy. I'm sure he'll come get you."  
  
"You took Mr. Murchison's gun. How could you?"  
  
"Guy's gotta survive. Tell the viejo I'm sorry, but it's all he had that was worth anything."  
  
"How's he supposed to protect himself now?" Summer berated the boy.  
  
"Not my problem."  
  
"God, you suck!"  
  
"Often," Miguel quipped with a laugh.  
  
"Don't you care about anybody but yourself? Mr. Murchison's a nice man, who never hurt anybody. You should be ashamed!" she continued to scold.  
  
After a moment's pause, Miguel sighed theatrically, "All right, chica, I'll try and keep an eye out for the old man. I know some people who might be able to clear up his Jose problem. The guy's got a lot of enemies, 's what I'm sayin'."  
  
Summer wondered if just hearing that made her an accessory to murder or something. "Okay. That sounds ... really illegal. Good luck with that."  
  
"I gotta go now, Newport. Nice meetin'ya. Tell our boy, Ryan, 'hey' from me."  
  
Miguel hung up.  
  
Summer exchanged a look with Mr. Murchison. "Well," she said dryly, "Miguel says to tell you he's sorry about the gun. Also it sounds like he might 'take care of' your Jose problem. Guess sometimes it's nice to have a criminal for a friend."  
  
The old man shook his head. "The little bastard. Pardon the language, Miss Summers."  
  
"No problem."  
  
"Breakfast is almost ready if you'd like some," he changed the subject.  
  
"Yes please. I'm starving. Ryan isn't awake yet. I don't know about his mom. I suppose I could go check on her and see if she wants anything." Summer made it sound like she'd rather jump into a vat of acid.  
  
Before leaving the kitchen, she gave Charles a big smile. "Thanks for everything, Mr. Murchison. I'm sorry we brought you so much trouble."  
  
"My dear, I haven't had this much excitement in years. Come to think of it, I've never had any excitement in my life." He paused. "We all need to be shaken out of our complacency every now and again, eh?" He smiled back at her.  
  
Summer left the kitchen, went up the creaky stairs and stopped before Dawn's closed door. She knocked lightly then a little louder. There was no answer. Summer delivered a sharp rap. Either Dawn was a very heavy sleeper or she'd managed to OD on something.  
  
Summer opened the door a crack then all the way. The bed was empty. The room was empty. There was a piece of paper on the pillow.  
  
She crossed the room and picked it up. It was only a piece of notebook paper folded in half and it would be sooo easy to unfold and read it, but Ryan's name was scrawled across it in loopy, schoolgirl handwriting so Summer contained her curiosity. She carried it away from her body like a piece of nuclear waste she was afraid would contaminate her.  
  
She retraced her steps to the master bedroom. Entering the room, she could tell from the change in Ryan's breathing that he was awake. At the sound of her footsteps he slowly turned his face toward her. He peered at her through his good eye.  
  
"Hey," he croaked.  
  
"Good morning. You look like crap," she said, sitting on the bed next to him and taking his hand. She stroked his swollen knuckles gently with her thumb.  
  
"Feel like it, too." He noticed the paper in her hand. "What's that?"  
  
Summer cringed inside. She knew this was going to hurt worse than his physical injuries. Releasing his hand, she silently handed him the note.  
  
He held it, staring at his name for a long moment. "She's gone?" he asked, no expression coloring his voice.  
  
Summer nodded.  
  
"Did you read it?"  
  
"No." Summer picked nervously at the sheet. "Do you ... do you want me to leave? I could...." she gestured toward the door.  
  
Ryan looked from the note to her face with dark, fathomless eyes. "Yeah. Please."  
  
"Sure." Summer got up then hesitated. "Ryan. I'm so sorry."  
  
He nodded but his attention was back on the note in his hands. He had resumed staring at the scrawled 'Ryan' as if he could decipher some hidden meaning there.  
  
"I'll come back and check on you in a while," Summer said then left the room.  
  
As she walked back downstairs, she thought of the multitude of ways she would like to hurt Dawn Atwood. How many times and ways could the woman abandon Ryan before he stopped trusting people completely? Well, it would just be up to Summer and the Cohens to keep on undoing her damage. Summer was up for the challenge.  
  
"Hello, Mr. M," she said as she reentered the kitchen. Charles was scrambling eggs in a black skillet. "No Dawn this morning. Looks like she took off, too."  
  
"Oh." He stopped stirring to look at her. "That's ... too bad. Have you told Brian?"  
  
Summer almost smiled at the name mix-up. He was so adorably befuddled. "Yeah. He's awake now. His mom left him a note. Guess that's her forte – note writing."  
  
Charles shook his head. He served up some of the eggs and a couple of strips of bacon on a plate and set it in front of Summer. "Of course, it's none of my business, but...."  
  
"What?" Summer prompted.  
  
"In a way, don't you think it's ... for the best? That she left? There's nothing that young man can do to help her if she doesn't want to be helped. I take it, from what I heard last night, that he has a foster family now? The best thing he can do is to go home and ... try to live his life."  
  
"Mr. Murchison you are a wise man," Summer agreed, biting into a forkful of egg. "But everyone else realizing that and Ryan accepting it are two different things."  
  
He nodded and dished up a second plate for himself. They ate in companionable silence at the kitchen table. Summer praised his culinary skill even as she crunched into several bits of eggshell. She felt a warm, furry body brush against her legs and started with a little shriek.  
  
"Sorry. Not used to cats," she explained.  
  
Charles smiled. "Pouncer's looking for a second breakfast." He dropped a crumb of egg and a bit of bacon on the floor and the cat abandoned Summer's legs and streaked over to the food.  
  
"He's so cute," Summer enthused, thinking that the overweight, straggle- eared cat was actually one of the most unattractive pets she'd ever seen.  
  
Summer's plate was already empty and Charles offered her another serving. "No thanks. I'm going to go see how Ryan's doing. He so banged up he might need help getting downstairs. It was delicious, though. Thank you."  
  
She ascended the stairs for the second time that morning.  
  
Ryan was sitting on the edge of the bed trying to put on his T-shirt. He had an arm in each sleeve and was struggling to lift them high enough to slip the shirt over his head, grimacing in pain. Summer noted that Dawn's message was crumpled into a ball on the floor.  
  
He dropped his hands to his lap. "I can't get this. Could you...?"  
  
Summer went over to help, but she quickly saw that the process of dressing Ryan was going to be more painful than useful to him. "Just leave it off," she suggested. "I'm sure Mr. Murchison has a button-up you could borrow – if you don't mind plaid." Ryan nodded and dropped the T-shirt to the floor.  
  
Summer sat down beside him. She put an arm around his waist, leaned over to kiss his bare shoulder and then fluffed up the flattened hair at the back of his head. "You okay?"  
  
He gave her his sideways, 'Are you kidding?' look.  
  
"Well, as okay as you can be under the circumstances," she amended.  
  
"Sure," Ryan sighed tiredly. "I just want to go home."  
  
Summer's heart buoyed up at the words. No more fantastic adventures in Chino? That was fine by her.  
  
"We can do that," she assured him. "Let me help you down to the kitchen. Mr. M. will give you breakfast and I'll go get the jeep." She held up an admonishing finger, "And don't give me any crap about walking through the mean streets of Chino. I'll be fine. I'll walk really, really fast."  
  
"Oh! I almost forgot. Guess who else has gone missing this morning? Miguel. Yeah. He stole my purse and Mr. Murchison's gun. So I called him 'cause he's got my cell phone, and he was an ass about it, but he did say he had some friends who might get rid of this Jose guy. So, if he does that I guess losing my purse was worth it." She chattered on, the words tripping faster and faster from her tongue. "Oh my god! I've got to call and cancel all my credit cards before he maxes them out. Although how he's going to find a Neiman Marcus in Chino is beyond me."  
  
Ryan smiled with one side of his mouth. He reached out a hand and cradled Summer's cheek, looking deeply into her eyes. "Thanks," he said huskily.  
  
Summer felt suddenly shy at his intense gaze. "For...?" she asked lightly.  
  
"For everything," he continued in that serious tone. "And...." he dropped his eyes, pulling her keys from his pocket and handing them to her, "for going to get the jeep. I know you'll be fine. As a matter of fact," he teased, "I pity anyone who tries to mess with you."  
  
Summer grinned. She jumped up lightly and offered a hand to help Ryan to his feet. "Come on. You don't want to miss Mr. Murchison's eggs 'n' bacon. They're crunchy. The eggs, that is, the bacon's kind of floppy."  
  
**********  
  
It was early afternoon. The sun baked the asphalt of the highway stretching in front of the jeep but inside it was a manmade seventy-two degrees. The radio was turned so low it was barely a hum of white noise. Summer thought the song sounded like Abba's "Dancing Queen," and wasn't she a closet geek for knowing that? Whether it was the right song or not, Summer sang along inside her head.  
  
She glanced over at Ryan, clad in a light blue and white striped Oxford, courtesy of Mr. Murchison. He was dozing, legs sprawled out, arms wrapped around himself, head dipping down on his chest then jerking up occasionally. It didn't look very restful. Summer pressed the accelerator a little harder. She was anxious to get him home. No doubt there would be hell to pay with the Cohens for this adventure but as wrecked as Ryan looked she doubted they'd lay into him too hard. And if they did, she'd be there to run interference.  
  
Although it was none of her business, she wondered again what Dawn's note had said. It was probably full of the usual apologies and self- denigration that an abandoning mother put forth to try to make herself feel better. "It's better for you this way. I'm no good as a parent. I'm sorry." Yeah, Summer had heard that line of bullshit before. But she had to admit in Dawn's case it was perfectly true.  
  
She thought about Mr. Murchison in his little house on Mariposa Street and hoped he would be safe. She had actually teared up a little when they thanked and bid him goodbye. Summer promised herself she would call once in a while to make sure that he was okay.  
  
Ryan startled and sat up straight as she accidentally let the jeep drift over the speed strips on the side of the road. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked and looked blearily out the window.  
  
"Sorry about that," Summer apologized. "We're almost home, anyway." She guided the jeep onto the ramp at the next exit.  
  
They passed a tasteful 'Welcome to Newport Beach' sign and were soon surrounded by all the familiar landmarks that let Summer know she was back in her own world. As she made turn after turn, glimpses of the ocean were occasionally visible.  
  
"Sandy's going to kill me," Ryan remarked when they drew closer to the Cohens' street.  
  
"Probably," Summer agreed. She abruptly pulled over and parked on the side of the road.  
  
He looked at her with a raised, questioning eyebrow.  
  
"Before I get you home and in case you're grounded for a long time," Summer explained. She scooted to the edge of her seat and leaned toward Ryan. He stiffly maneuvered his bruised body toward her and they kissed.  
  
"Ow."  
  
"Sorry." Summer gentled her pressure on his lips.  
  
"It's okay," he mumbled into her mouth.  
  
She pulled back. "Hey, next time we go to Chino...."  
  
"Next time?"  
  
"For the wedding. Next time you can introduce me to some of your old friends. I can't wait to see this Theresa chick."  
  
Ryan smiled. "You sure you're up for another trip to Chino ... ever?"  
  
"Of course." Summer paused a moment then spoke seriously. "About your mom...."  
  
"I don't want to talk about it." Ryan's face closed up and the smile disappeared. "I'm done worrying about her ... or even thinking about her."  
  
Summer pursed her lips and nodded her head. "Except you're not. You never will be, but that's okay." She rested a hand gently on his arm and gave him a little smile. "I just want you to know that you can talk to me about her when you need to. No one understands better than me about obsessing over a misplaced mom."  
  
Ryan was still frowning slightly, but he acknowledged her words with a curt nod.  
  
"That's all I'm gonna say about it," Summer continued. "Now give me another kiss and I'll take you home to the Cohens."  
  
They shared a long, careful kiss, and then Summer put the jeep in gear and drove toward home.  
  
The End 


End file.
